


love for dummies

by ftera



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 00:26:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3337640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftera/pseuds/ftera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has obviously been spending too much time at the shop he works at, because the mannequins aren't supposed to talk to you and they're definitely not supposed to look real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love for dummies

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely based off of the movie Mannequin.
> 
> Thanks to [Adele](http://rhapsodean.tumblr.com/), the artist, who's been extremely understanding and patient even though I didn't give her the masterpiece she deserved.

Castiel Novak has wasted about three years of his life working behind the counter at this store, but he doesn't think that it's actually gotten interesting until they bring in the mannequins.

To be fair, though, Castiel doesn't think he's ever seen mannequins that look so real, but that's a different story for a different time.

He's sidetracked when they come in, counting the change left in his register at the end of the day, but his attention is sparked when they start piling up the mannequins next to his line. Ruby makes it a point to ignore the objects that are intruding in on her space from where she’s standing in the lane in front of his, but Charlie has no issue with walking up to one and observing its features.

“This one looks like it’s about to come alive and touch you,” she points out, tilting her head towards one of the male figures. Distracted, Castiel hums his assent, focusing at the task on hand. He’s only got fifteen more minutes before he pretends to pack up to start heading home and then another three before he tricks Ruby and Charlie into thinking he has a home to go to and then another seven minutes of pretending that his life isn’t the huge mess that it is.

He used to be fine– days, weeks, months ago, maybe. That was before he realized what complete and utter shit his life had become.

See, Castiel has this thing with luck– or, rather, a lack of luck. It’s probably been there his entire life, but he was pretty good at ignoring it until he was seventeen and got his first job.

Castiel is good at working– he knows this just like he knows that on every Wednesday his brother calls him at exactly 7 o'clock to "check up on him" and just like he knows that the Saturday special is potato soup at the little cafe in the middle of the mall. He's good at it, he knows, but that doesn't always mean that other people know it and recognize it. Usually it doesn't bother him– it's just a job just a job _just a job_ – but it had been one of the few jobs that he liked, really, (mostly because he was young and things were easier back then) and he was getting fired because, apparently, it’s not appropriate to announce out what someone was buying as he rung up their items with the scanner.

It's something he’s, thankfully, gotten better at.

So he got fired from that job, which lead to a plethora of things, like landscaping (which, no, is not like sculpting) and retail (apparently you're supposed to _smile_ at the customer, not scare them off) and being a waiter (it's not your job to arrange the food on the plate, no matter how much you really _really_ want to) and working in a call center (asking people about their day does not get the job done) and delivering pizza (when the customers treat you like shit, you're _not_ supposed to spit in their food in front of them).

In turn, all of that lead up to Meg, who may or may not have been the best decision he’d made in his life. Things had been good between them, too, until a few weeks ago when Meg had come back to their small, shitty apartment and announced that she’d gotten a promotion.

A promotion that would, essentially, mean that there would be little to no time for them to spend together.

It ended up in a huge fight, one that Castiel doesn’t want to remember, but the in the end resulted in him without a place to stay. He knows that if he asked, Charlie (and even, he admits grudgingly, Ruby) wouldn’t be likely to turn him down. And even though they’re friends, he hates taking advantage of people, hates that he feels like a burden even when someone insists he isn’t.

Somehow, he had a grand idea to stay in the store he worked in.

At this point, all he’s complaining about is having to stare at the same wallpaper 24/7.

But he refuses to clue his coworkers in on his conditions, so he keeps silent as the three of them go through their typical nightly routine. “So I’m thinking of picking up some earlier hours,” he hears Charlie say. “They’re hiring some newbie for opening hours and I’ve only seen him once but the poor guy looks fresh outta high school.”

“So you’re leaving me here with featherbrain, then?”

Castiel’s shoulders go tight a little with the mindless nickname, but he recognizes venom when he hears it and there’s a lack of it in Ruby’s voice so he lets it go.

“Just for a few days,” Charlie promises. “Besides, I’ll probably be trading some shifts with Bela, too, so she’ll be around.”

Ruby groans, grabbing her jacket from the coat rack. “Please tell me you’re kidding. Bela and I can’t stand being within five feet of each other. Can’t you switch with anyone else?”

“I would, but Garth has classes later in the day and Jo _still_ refuses to acknowledge my existence.” Charlie shrugs apologetically. “You forget to talk to your best friend for one weekend and she treats you as if you’re a bug. A small one. A fly, maybe.” She pauses in her rambling to glance back at Castiel who’s still standing by his locker, toying with the strap of his handbag. “You coming, Cas?”

He shakes himself out of his daze. “Right, of course. I was just thinking.”

“About?” Ruby prompts.

“Dinner.”

Charlie visibly perks up at this. “Dinner where?”

“Oh,” he stumbles, trying to think of a restaurant nearby. “I don’t really know yet, I just–”

Grinning, Charlie bounds over to him and links their arms together. “That’s cool. We can just go to that new one over on Mulberry, okay? My treat. We haven’t gone out for dinner in ages, Cas. All three of us could go, Ruby _loves_ you. I bet she’s hungry too, right?”

From by the door, Castiel can see Ruby nodding. He thinks it’s more to do with the free food aspect than anything else, but Ruby has always been a mystery to him. When Charlie notices his hesitation, she pauses. “Please? What’s the worst that can happen?”

And that’s when his night goes terribly wrong.

 

 

 

* * *

The dinner itself is fine.

Charlie takes them to a small but new diner that seems to be a big hit and insists on paying. Castiel almost argues with her but the thought of his living conditions and lack of money cuts him off. She seems surprised, almost, at how quickly he gives in, but something must show on his face that causes her not to mention it.

It’s after dinner that The Problem starts (with capitol letters, because nothing will ever be this big in his life ever again).

When he finally heads back to the shop, everything is dark and quiet like it should be, but almost immediately Castiel is on guard. He doesn’t realize why, exactly, until he makes his way to the registers and finds the mannequins that are still standing by them. None of them have been touched, as far as he can tell, but there’s something off about the formation, almost as if–

“What’cha lookin’ at?”

Naturally, Castiel jumps about seven inches into the air before spinning around, wielding nothing but the shop’s keys in his hand as a weapon. (In his defense, he could’ve poked an eyeball out with them.)

The intruder is young and defenseless his hands turned palm up at his sides. He’s kind of pretty, too, if Castiel really focuses on that, but there’s something about him that doesn’t seem… _real_. While he tries to puzzle it out, he finds his voice again. “What are you doing here?”

The stranger– he looks so _young_ , Castiel thinks, and he must be in his early twenties with a face like that, eyes wide with shock and innocence– cocks his head to the side. “I’ve been here for a few hours.”

“Has anyone told you that we’re closed right now?” Castiel asks, glancing around at the empty room as though it should be obvious– which, really, it should be.

The boy (man?) grins. “That’s how I’m here.”

Castiel blinks. “Did you sneak in?”

And then, believe it or not, the stranger actually rolls his eyes, as if _Castiel_ is the one being absurd in this situation. “No. You saw me earlier. Or, at least, the redhead did. She said I looked real, don’t you remember?”

What?

“What?”

The stranger sighs, holding up a finger, before adjusting his position. He turns to the side a little, plants both feet firmly on the ground shoulder width apart, and tilts his head again, just a little bit, but the images click to suddenly in Castiel’s mind that he _must_ be going crazy, because there’s no way in _hell_ that a _mannequin_ came to life.

Except there’s one standing in front of him. Even when he glances back to check at the other mannequins by the registers– there’s one missing, he muses, which, _of course_ must’ve been what he thought was off earlier– they’re held in nearly the same position.

If this were a comedy, this would be the part where Castiel would spit out his drink, except that he hasn’t drank anything and this isn’t a script, there’s just a _mannequin_ in front of him grinning from ear to ear as if this is the sort of thing that happens everyday.

“The name’s Dean,” the stranger– _mannequin_ , and Castiel’s going to have a hard time wrapping his head around that one– says, the shit-eating smile on his face growing even wider, if possible.

“This isn’t real,” Castiel tells him, which– _stupid_ , because what else would it be? “I’m dreaming, right? I’m curled up somewhere in the store passed out and this is just a crazy weird dream that I’m having because I’ve been in here for too long and it’s just now catching up to me, right?”

Dean shrugs, leaning against one of the display tables. It shifts a little under his added weight but otherwise doesn’t move. “I hate to burst your bubble, but I can tell you that I’m very real. You’re just allowed to get in on the secret.”

“What about the other mannequins? Why aren’t they real, too?”

“That’s because they’re made out of plastic,” he says, as if that answers everything.

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “And what are you made out of? Sugar, spice, and everything nice? I’m not buying into it.”

“That’s because, once upon a time ago, I was human. You know, flesh and bones and blood– the whole nine yards.” Frowning, Dean looks down at his feet. Castiel notices for the first time that they’re bare and thinks offhandedly about getting him some shoes. “I, um, gave all that up.”

Either this is a dream or Castiel’s getting really tired, because suddenly this doesn’t seem half as ridiculous as it did before, and– who knew? All it takes is one tiny little genuine sounding confession for him to decide that this might be real after all. “Let me get this straight– you’re living high life as a real normal person and then– what? You die? And then become a mannequin, of all things?”

“It’s not quite like that,” Dean relents.

“So what did you give it up for, then?”

Again, Dean looks away, but this time it’s towards the windows at the front of the shop. Castiel hadn’t thought about that, hadn’t thought about how anyone could just walk by and see them in the middle of the store after hours, but he isn’t too concerned about that because anyone walking around at eleven at night must be some sort of crazy. There’s also the fact that the registers cover them a little bit and the lights are off, so it would be hard to see inside anyway. “What do most heroes in stories give up their life for?”

“Honestly? They usually either give up their life for a girl. Sometimes it’s for the greater good. It just depends on how well-written the plot is,” Castiel says.

“Freedom,” Dean tells him, a little wistfully. “I never got to have it while I was growing up. Too many responsibilities on my shoulders, too many people counting on me. I hated being what everyone looked up to.”

“How long ago are we talking?”

Shrugging half-heartedly, Dean picks himself up off the display table and starts to make his way to the small group of mannequins by the register. “I want to say around the time of the early Egyptians. I was alive before pyramids were a thing.”

Castiel considers that, trying to do the mental math in his head. It would have been 5000 years ago, at least. “And this whole coming back to life thing?”

“I'll come back every once and a blue moon, sure. Though usually I come back in something that everyone can see and talk to, not just one person,” Dean says, his eyes tracing over one of the blond mannequins.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Dean gives him a nervous smile. “Well, um. Huh. It’s just that– this is the first time I’ve come back as… something non-living, I suppose. I tried moving earlier, when the redhead was looking at me. Charlie, wasn’t it? But I couldn’t do it until you guys all left. I’m still surprised I’m allowed to move around,” Dean admits, glancing down at his hands as if he can’t believe that they exist.

Castiel frowns. “So you mean you can only come alive around me?”

“Essentially.”

Sighing, Castiel leans back against one of the register lanes. “Fantastic. As if I don’t need another reason to go to therapy.”

“Sorry.” Dean glances at the mannequins again. “Hey, do something with me?”

He tilts his head in question.

“Why don’t we set these guys up?” Dean questions, grinning back at him.

They end up dressing the remaining mannequins in the most ridiculous of outfits, but Dean can’t stop smiling and Castiel thinks it’s strange, how something can look so bright and radiant when it shouldn’t exist at all.

(Maybe he’s a little sleep deprived, he tells himself.)

By the time they’re done arranging things, Castiel is beat out,finding his phone so he can check the time. An hour had nearly gone and past since the mannequin had first made its appearance as human (or something bizarrely close to it), but he feels connected to Dean somehow, as if he’d known him all of his life. (The look Dean had given him at certain points, from the corner of his eye, hadn’t helped either.)

“So what do you do when you aren’t anything?” Castiel questions as they try to pick out something for Dean to wear. Once he, Charlie, and Ruby had left the store, Dean had immediately sprung alive but, because he wasn’t wearing anything, he’d picked up the first things he could put his hands on.

Picking up a hat, Dean tells him, “I don’t know, actually. It’s not like I’ve got very accurate details of all the things I’ve done in the past century or so.”

Castiel wonders if it’s a kind of blank space. He keeps asking Dean about it while he’s changing from one shirt to the next, but Dean has little to offer and instead moves on to ask about Castiel’s family. (Castiel doesn’t have much to offer, either. The only one he keeps in touch with anymore is Gabriel, and that’s only because his brother is nosey and doesn’t know how to mind his own business.)

“Damn,” Dean says some time later after having found the perfect pants.

“Hmm?”

“You’re practically asleep!” Was he? He hadn’t noticed. So maybe he’d been relying on one of the display cases a little too heavily– so what? That basically meant nothing. Castiel had just had a long day– that was it. “C’mon, why don’t you lay down or something?” Dean moves over towards him, pulling Castiel up so he could help support his weight. The more he’s offered sleep, the more appealing it’s beginning to sound.

“But won’t you go away?” he slurs.

He can practically hear the smile in Dean’s voice when he says, “Don’t worry, Cas, I’ll be here in the morning.”

Castiel doesn’t even have time to worry about the fact that he hadn’t even told Dean his name before sleep overtakes him.

 

 

 

* * *

Castiel wakes up in the morning to the sun shining in his face and a bit of a stiffness in his shoulder from where he’d lain on it during the night. The events of the previous night come in slowly and then in a rush, and he sits straight up, glancing around the shop.

It must be early morning, still, because the shop is quiet and it doesn’t look like anyone has caught him sleeping out here. The sky is also a bit pink and orange still, pretty in a way that most people would appreciate. Castiel is just frozen still, wondering how much was real and how much was imagined.

The mannequins are still set up in the places that he and Dean put them, scattered around the store hanging around by display cases. There’s one, though, standing in front of the large front window, and Castiel realizes that it’s _Dean_ , except his chest isn’t rising and falling slowly and he looks a little less real, a little less warm.

For a second, though, he thinks that the mannequin winks at him.

Startled, a laugh escapes out of his throat, and he shakes his head. He recalls how those eyes had looked before, bright and green and happy, beautiful in the kind of sense that poetry would be. Castiel shoves the thoughts from his mind. It’s a _mannequin_ , he reminds himself, but for some reason he doesn’t really think it is. Regardless, he doesn’t let himself think about it, slipping towards the back of the store so he can leave before the morning shift gets here.

There’s no proof that whatever it was that happened last night happened at all, but maybe that’s the point. Maybe Castiel will just have to come back, and keep coming back, just so he can find out.

He leaves out the back door before anyone else shows up and walks around the front of the store to leave. For one small, ridiculous moment he almost waves and for another small, even more ridiculous moment, he swears Dean waves back. Castiel leaves with a smile on his face, a promise in his mind. This won't be the last time this happens– not by a long shot.

 


End file.
